For four years, Greg Paulus was a larger-than-life figure on campus—a hero of sorts—yet there was always something strangely humble about him. Duke fans want what’s best for the program, but we also wanted what was best for Paulus. He earned that courtesy.
Which is why I didn’t want to admit that at first, I thought Paulus made a mistake by playing football. I wasn’t an outlier, either.
Back in May, the soon-to-be-graduate announced that his college career wasn’t yet done, that he was using a fifth year of eligibility to play football at Syracuse. Paulus hadn’t played competitive football in almost five years, and because he opted for Syracuse when he did, it was already too late to participate in spring practice. He was the underdog, and everyone in the race had a head start. Naturally, the jokes from Paulus’s detractors rolled in faster than he could pump out national television interviews—No flopping on the football field! Can’t slap the floor with a clipboard!—but personally, I doubted his motivation. I didn’t want to see him fail, and I didn’t think he could succeed.
Then, in August, Orange head coach Doug Marrone made the announcement that no one thought he would make, at least not so soon: Greg Paulus would be his starting quarterback. Oh, and one of his captains, too.
It was about this time when Paulus and Syracuse became one of the most worthwhile causes in college football, if not one of the most bizarre. (Even 12 games later, it’s still sort of jarring to see him in blue and orange, wearing No. 2, trapped inside a helmet. “It was weird seeing him out there, but it was the same Greg,” Miles Plumlee said recently, capturing the sentiment. “I could tell by the way he waved his hands, his mannerisms, that leadership he had with us. It definitely carried out on the field.”)
Because really, the story is larger than Paulus. Its scope extends beyond sports; thematically, it’s the stuff of great literature. The protagonist, as the flawed hero, seeks a second chance, tempted by the promise of a journey. (Every good story relies on a quixotic trip.) From there, anything can happen. It often does.
Huck Finn sets off down the Mississippi. Odysseus returns from Troy. Jay Gatsby moves to West Egg.
So yeah, Paulus shipped up to Syracuse, his hometown, and strapped on a football helmet. Pretty much the same thing, right?
“There were different challenges along the way,” Paulus told me Wednesday. “The first was to get myself in football shape, adding on 15 pounds. Then you have to be part of the team—understanding guys, becoming friends with teammates, showing who you are and what you can do. And as the season goes along, you go through the thick and the thin with your teammates. You play games.”
Individual games serve as natural checkpoints in any sports narrative. There are subsections within those chapters—topic sentences, supporting evidence, conclusions—but sporting events have beginnings and endings, wins and losses. There’s a sense of finality. By that unit of measurement, then, Paulus’s season was a wave of ups and downs. The Orange started the year with a deflating overtime loss at home, with the national attention shining bright on the Carrier Dome, and it rebounded with a win in a shootout over Northwestern, a bowl-bound team, when Paulus threw for 346 yards and two touchdowns.
The early enthusiasm for the hometown hero faded when Syracuse continued to lose. Weeks after Paulus threw five interceptions in a loss to South Florida, the fans were still booing, anxious to see Paulus’s backup—the same quarterback he had beaten out in minicamp, despite not having played football in years—and eventually, the catcalls grew loud enough for Marrone to respond with a press conference so passionate that even the most gifted author couldn’t have written it.
“I put in a lot of time and thought, and I’d like to make a statement about Greg Paulus. I have never seen an athlete at any level, including the NFL, work as hard, mentally and physically, as Greg has worked since he’s joined us here at Syracuse,” Marrone said, tears welling up in his eyes. “Really, what he’s accomplished is extraordinary. Maybe it can’t be fully appreciated because most don’t know just how difficult it is to play quarterback at a Division I program. In the era of video games, virtual reality, it’s easy to believe that throwing a pass, reading a defense, avoiding a sack is as easy as the push of a button, that any of us can do [it]. The problem, it’s not that easy. We can’t do that.
“And I truly, truly, truly thank him for being here. And I hope my kids grow up to have the courage and determination of a Greg Paulus. I get emotional when I talk about my family.”
Maybe it wasn’t Win One for the Gipper, or even Tebow’s Promise, and the Orange didn’t win one for Paulus—not for two more weeks, at least, when it upset No. 25 Rutgers. By the end of the year, Paulus was playing his best football, efficiently picking apart defenses and racking up a 132.6 quarterback rating for his college football career. He set a school record with 193 completions in a season and broke another Syracuse mark with a .677 completion percentage.
Not bad for a kid who was never supposed to play. Not bad for anyone, actually.
Syracuse’s season is over. The Orange finished with a 4-8 record—a bummer and all—but Paulus’s story doesn’t conclude on a down note. How could it? This is a kid who put his legacy on the line. He traded in a four-year basketball career at Duke for an uncertain place on Syracuse’s football team, and not only did he avoid floundering, but he flourished, in a way. He won a job, and he beat other teams. He set some records. No one’s confusing him for an All-American, but last I looked, there were only a few of those, anyway.
It’s refreshing to see someone follow his heart, especially when he’s ensconced in comfort. It’s even cooler to see that type of risk pay rewards.
“I haven’t really thought about it in terms of that,” Paulus admitted. “I am very happy with the decision I made, and if I had to do it all over again, I would make the same decision.”
Of course he would. There’s still an epilogue to be written. As he finishes up his stint in graduate school in May, Paulus is weighing futures in football, coaching and broadcasting, but the bulk of this micro-narrative is done. It has a happy ending.
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